[ Falls don't work that way, physics do not work that way, all things gliding down at a rather reasonable and similar rate of travel, but it happens anyway and after a fall that takes somehow all the time in the world and no time at all (and he's really starting to question how much whiskey he'd consumed), James lands in the hall.

He takes a moment to brush himself off, right his hat, check his pocket watch (late for a very important date?) and then put it back away. All back in order he starts to explore. He tries the doors first, at least the ones he can feasibly reach, trying the handles like the fact they're locked is a foregone conclusion, but its at least worth a try. ]

Curiouser and curiouser.

[ He clicks his tongue against the top of his mouth and puts his hands in his pockets, observing the room again and then, oh. Had that table been there before? What a thing to overlook.

James touches things like he has to touch them to learn about them, not bothered at all by the idea of rifling through someone else's stuff. The signs, the vials, the plate (which he picks up to examine whether there's anything written underneath), and then the key ring. ]

That's too easy, isn't it?

[ Sure, it's roughly a whole fuckton of keys, but that's not a puzzle. That's just trial and error. ]

[ The tea party isn't surprising, of course, by the time he's gotten there. The Hatter, the Hare, the Dormouse. But he's not going to turn down sweets or tea, and he finds himself pulled along into the party.

What else is there better to do, anyway?

He piles his little plate full of treats, more than would be strictly appropriate at a real tea party, but the hosts don't seem to mind. He ends up debating why a raven is like a writing desk with them for a bit before someone else comes along (finally!) and he turns to the newcomer instead and remarks, ]

It's about quaternions, you know.

[ ravens and writing desks and rotations and feeling so deeply out of time...maybe he'll have some tea, after all. ]

Well if the Queen demands it, we'd best oblige.

[ There's clearly a note of disdain to his voice, a hint of treasonous (or revolutionary?) anger, but he picks up a flamingo and a hedgehog all the same, looking down at the little guy in his hand. ] Be good, won't you?

[ he sets it up at the post and then regards the flamingo next, ] And you, too.

[ Rousing battle speech having been given, he hits the ball, sailing through the first two wickets next the post easily, but his subsequent two hits don't get him all the way to the next wicket. Still, it's a good start.

That leaves...whoever he's playing again. ]

Well, come on. You don't want to lose your head, do you?

[ toss me something else! James Moriarty is a Victorian university student studying maths and one day he'll be some detective guy's archrival, but right now he's just a nice (and occasionally pedantic) young lad ]